Chapter 16
The small boat chugged quietly up the Seine, winding its way through the center of Paris. Jack and Irina sat together companionably on the upper deck, watching the evening lights flicker as they floated past. Snatches of music floated up to them, but for the moment they were silent. Jack's arm was around Irina, keeping her warm on the chilly evening.
Irina allowed herself to relax momentarily, blocking out the insistent messages from her brain about plans that needed to be made, preparations completed. She had been to Paris more times than she could count, and never failed to be spellbound by this sight. She sighed. The best of those times had been with Jack, but so long ago that the memory was becoming smudged around the edges. "Beautiful," she breathed softly.
Jack looked over at her. "Yes," he said, not thinking of the lights.
"Jack?"
"Hmm?"
"Have I said I'm sorry?"
"Yes."
"I am, you know," she said regretfully, snuggling closer to him.
"Of course," he said suggestively, "you haven't *shown* me how sorry you are."
"Jack!" she said warningly.
"I know, I know," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Talk first."
Irina smiled. "And I think it's my turn."
"Fire away."
"How did you get here?"
"Plane," Jack smirked.
"Jack! Two people can play that game...,"
"OK, ok. I went to Devlin when Sloane approached me the first time. I worked through everything that might happen, and it was clear that Sloane's end game might be to set me up. I couldn't tell anyone at Joint Ops, given the number of moles, so Devlin was my insurance."
"That phone call you got?"
"Was Vaughn, and it told me that Sloane had played his card. It seemed to make sense to play along - Sloane may take more risks if he thinks he's gotten me out of the way."
"You were in prison once before, weren't you?" said Irina softly.
Jack hesitated. He hadn't discussed his confinement after Irina's departure with anyone. Ever. "Irina, I'm not sure I'm ready...,"
"Jack. Trust me."
Jack was silent, his fingers idly playing with her hair. Irina waited patiently. Jack looked away from her, out over the water. Somehow it felt easier if he didn't meet her eyes. "It was awful," he whispered finally. Gathering himself together he continued, "They came a couple of days after the funeral. I was heartbroken, still in shock. Sydney couldn't leave my side, wouldn't let me out of her sight. They came to the door and arrested me for treason, but wouldn't tell me anything else. Sydney was there as they put on the handcuffs. The social worker held Sydney, screaming, as they took me away."
Jack paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself, oblivious to Irina's gasp of pain. "They told me you were a KGB spy. I told them they were crazy. They told me you had targeted me, used me, never loved me. I told them they were lying. They showed me pictures, surveillance footage, transcripts. I-," he paused again, "I wanted to die."
He bowed his head, reliving it in his mind. Irina held still, knowing that Jack had almost forgotten she was there. "Then they told me they would take Sydney away. I knew I had to live. For the next 6 months I told them every detail of our lives together. Everything was suspect. Nothing was sacred. By the time they were done, there was no memory I had of our 10 years together that wasn't tainted in some way. For years after, I would come to Paris and, instead of remembering the wonderful time we had here, I would wonder if our hotel room had been bugged," he said bleakly.
"It...it wasn't," choked Irina. "Oh, God, Jack-," and she clung to him, tears falling silently in the darkness. "How do we - how can you - ever get past that?" she asked sadly.
Jack thought for a moment. "I think I already have," he said meditatively. "The memory of how it felt then is still painful. A little less so, having shared it," he admitted. "But the real agony of that time was not the tradecraft you practiced. It was the thought that I had given myself to you so whole-heartedly, and you hadn't loved me back. That it had been just a job for you. Knowing what I know now," he shrugged, "makes it easier."
"Jack-,"
"Irina," he interrupted. "I can't dwell on it. I've had 20 years of regrets. That's enough for a lifetime."
"For two lifetimes."
"I'd rather," he looked at her hesitantly, "make new memories."
Irina saw the question in his eyes and nodded. He reached out and, taking her chin in his hand, gazed at her face, almost as if trying to memorize it. Slowly, gently his lips came down to meet hers. His hand snaked behind her neck, tilting her head upwards, and as their kiss deepened Irina's lips parted, allowing Jack's tongue to roam through her mouth. His groan, as she lightly sucked on his tongue caused her to break away, breathless. "Jack-,"
"I know, I know," he grumbled, his breathing ragged. "If we don't stop now, I'll end up taking you here on the deck."
"This isn't exactly easy for me either," she said with asperity.
"Are we done talking about me?" Jack asked plaintively. "I've got some questions, too."
"OK. Your turn."
"What does the device do? That you're trying to get from Sloane?"
Irina bit her lip. "Oh no, you don't," said Jack, seeing the hesitation on her face. "Tell me. Now."
Irina took a deep breath. "You remember my telling you that the 47th chromosome needs to be activated before it becomes effective? Rambaldi called the device 'La Scintilla', Italian for 'The Spark'. It...activates the chromosome."
"Your chromosome?" asked Jack, reeling.
"Yes. The letter my grandfather left for me detailed the process for activation, if I so chose. What Rambaldi did not anticipate was that at his death his manuscripts and inventions would be viewed as curiosities and dispersed - some sold to collectors, others just lost. I've spent the past 15 years searching for 'La Scintilla'; when I escaped in Panama City, I found out that Arvin had it - one of the many artifacts he'd collected."
"Why is it so important to Sydney?"
"Because Sydney also has the chromosome, Jack. And while Sloane has not yet figured that out, it is only a matter of time. After all, the CIA already knows that her genetic profile is unusual. The enlarged heart is one of the manifestations of the presence of the gene. Sloane could be one manuscript away from putting all the pieces together. What do you think Sloane would do if he had both access to the chromosome and to the means to activate it?"
Jack knew with certainty what Sloane would do. Quickly he blocked out the image of Sydney strapped down to a gurney in a medical lab somewhere, a human guinea pig. "So why didn't you just shoot Sloane?"
"Because there will be other Sloanes. I couldn't take the risk that one of them might get to it first. Until I got the location from Sloane, I couldn't give him up."
"And do you know where it is yet?
"No, but I know where it will be in two days."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"Rome. Where Sloane believes Rambaldi is currently living."
"Why is Sloane going to Rambaldi?"
"Because Sloane is convinced that Rambaldi conquered mortality. And Sloane wants to become immortal, but can't figure out how to do it himself. He knows 'La Scintilla' is part of the puzzle; he's bringing it to Rambaldi as a good faith gesture."
Jack regarded Irina intently. "You've got a plan."
"Yes," she agreed. "And I need your help." Irina quickly sketched the outline to Jack, who suggested a couple of refinements. Satisfied, he nodded his willingness to assist. "Where are you staying tonight?" she asked.
Jack gave her the name of a small hotel on the outskirts of the city.
"I'll bring you the things you need." Seeing Jack's eyes light up, she laughed. "No, Jack, I'm just dropping them off. It may be late. I have a lot to do over the next few days."
Jack gave a growl of frustration. Reaching her hand up to his face, Irina gently stroked his cheek. "It's almost over," she said sympathetically.
But Jack could see something else in her eyes. A haunted look. And he suddenly realized with dread that there was a question he hadn't asked. And even though they had come so far, still couldn't.
The small boat chugged quietly up the Seine, winding its way through the center of Paris. Jack and Irina sat together companionably on the upper deck, watching the evening lights flicker as they floated past. Snatches of music floated up to them, but for the moment they were silent. Jack's arm was around Irina, keeping her warm on the chilly evening.
Irina allowed herself to relax momentarily, blocking out the insistent messages from her brain about plans that needed to be made, preparations completed. She had been to Paris more times than she could count, and never failed to be spellbound by this sight. She sighed. The best of those times had been with Jack, but so long ago that the memory was becoming smudged around the edges. "Beautiful," she breathed softly.
Jack looked over at her. "Yes," he said, not thinking of the lights.
"Jack?"
"Hmm?"
"Have I said I'm sorry?"
"Yes."
"I am, you know," she said regretfully, snuggling closer to him.
"Of course," he said suggestively, "you haven't *shown* me how sorry you are."
"Jack!" she said warningly.
"I know, I know," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Talk first."
Irina smiled. "And I think it's my turn."
"Fire away."
"How did you get here?"
"Plane," Jack smirked.
"Jack! Two people can play that game...,"
"OK, ok. I went to Devlin when Sloane approached me the first time. I worked through everything that might happen, and it was clear that Sloane's end game might be to set me up. I couldn't tell anyone at Joint Ops, given the number of moles, so Devlin was my insurance."
"That phone call you got?"
"Was Vaughn, and it told me that Sloane had played his card. It seemed to make sense to play along - Sloane may take more risks if he thinks he's gotten me out of the way."
"You were in prison once before, weren't you?" said Irina softly.
Jack hesitated. He hadn't discussed his confinement after Irina's departure with anyone. Ever. "Irina, I'm not sure I'm ready...,"
"Jack. Trust me."
Jack was silent, his fingers idly playing with her hair. Irina waited patiently. Jack looked away from her, out over the water. Somehow it felt easier if he didn't meet her eyes. "It was awful," he whispered finally. Gathering himself together he continued, "They came a couple of days after the funeral. I was heartbroken, still in shock. Sydney couldn't leave my side, wouldn't let me out of her sight. They came to the door and arrested me for treason, but wouldn't tell me anything else. Sydney was there as they put on the handcuffs. The social worker held Sydney, screaming, as they took me away."
Jack paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself, oblivious to Irina's gasp of pain. "They told me you were a KGB spy. I told them they were crazy. They told me you had targeted me, used me, never loved me. I told them they were lying. They showed me pictures, surveillance footage, transcripts. I-," he paused again, "I wanted to die."
He bowed his head, reliving it in his mind. Irina held still, knowing that Jack had almost forgotten she was there. "Then they told me they would take Sydney away. I knew I had to live. For the next 6 months I told them every detail of our lives together. Everything was suspect. Nothing was sacred. By the time they were done, there was no memory I had of our 10 years together that wasn't tainted in some way. For years after, I would come to Paris and, instead of remembering the wonderful time we had here, I would wonder if our hotel room had been bugged," he said bleakly.
"It...it wasn't," choked Irina. "Oh, God, Jack-," and she clung to him, tears falling silently in the darkness. "How do we - how can you - ever get past that?" she asked sadly.
Jack thought for a moment. "I think I already have," he said meditatively. "The memory of how it felt then is still painful. A little less so, having shared it," he admitted. "But the real agony of that time was not the tradecraft you practiced. It was the thought that I had given myself to you so whole-heartedly, and you hadn't loved me back. That it had been just a job for you. Knowing what I know now," he shrugged, "makes it easier."
"Jack-,"
"Irina," he interrupted. "I can't dwell on it. I've had 20 years of regrets. That's enough for a lifetime."
"For two lifetimes."
"I'd rather," he looked at her hesitantly, "make new memories."
Irina saw the question in his eyes and nodded. He reached out and, taking her chin in his hand, gazed at her face, almost as if trying to memorize it. Slowly, gently his lips came down to meet hers. His hand snaked behind her neck, tilting her head upwards, and as their kiss deepened Irina's lips parted, allowing Jack's tongue to roam through her mouth. His groan, as she lightly sucked on his tongue caused her to break away, breathless. "Jack-,"
"I know, I know," he grumbled, his breathing ragged. "If we don't stop now, I'll end up taking you here on the deck."
"This isn't exactly easy for me either," she said with asperity.
"Are we done talking about me?" Jack asked plaintively. "I've got some questions, too."
"OK. Your turn."
"What does the device do? That you're trying to get from Sloane?"
Irina bit her lip. "Oh no, you don't," said Jack, seeing the hesitation on her face. "Tell me. Now."
Irina took a deep breath. "You remember my telling you that the 47th chromosome needs to be activated before it becomes effective? Rambaldi called the device 'La Scintilla', Italian for 'The Spark'. It...activates the chromosome."
"Your chromosome?" asked Jack, reeling.
"Yes. The letter my grandfather left for me detailed the process for activation, if I so chose. What Rambaldi did not anticipate was that at his death his manuscripts and inventions would be viewed as curiosities and dispersed - some sold to collectors, others just lost. I've spent the past 15 years searching for 'La Scintilla'; when I escaped in Panama City, I found out that Arvin had it - one of the many artifacts he'd collected."
"Why is it so important to Sydney?"
"Because Sydney also has the chromosome, Jack. And while Sloane has not yet figured that out, it is only a matter of time. After all, the CIA already knows that her genetic profile is unusual. The enlarged heart is one of the manifestations of the presence of the gene. Sloane could be one manuscript away from putting all the pieces together. What do you think Sloane would do if he had both access to the chromosome and to the means to activate it?"
Jack knew with certainty what Sloane would do. Quickly he blocked out the image of Sydney strapped down to a gurney in a medical lab somewhere, a human guinea pig. "So why didn't you just shoot Sloane?"
"Because there will be other Sloanes. I couldn't take the risk that one of them might get to it first. Until I got the location from Sloane, I couldn't give him up."
"And do you know where it is yet?
"No, but I know where it will be in two days."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"Rome. Where Sloane believes Rambaldi is currently living."
"Why is Sloane going to Rambaldi?"
"Because Sloane is convinced that Rambaldi conquered mortality. And Sloane wants to become immortal, but can't figure out how to do it himself. He knows 'La Scintilla' is part of the puzzle; he's bringing it to Rambaldi as a good faith gesture."
Jack regarded Irina intently. "You've got a plan."
"Yes," she agreed. "And I need your help." Irina quickly sketched the outline to Jack, who suggested a couple of refinements. Satisfied, he nodded his willingness to assist. "Where are you staying tonight?" she asked.
Jack gave her the name of a small hotel on the outskirts of the city.
"I'll bring you the things you need." Seeing Jack's eyes light up, she laughed. "No, Jack, I'm just dropping them off. It may be late. I have a lot to do over the next few days."
Jack gave a growl of frustration. Reaching her hand up to his face, Irina gently stroked his cheek. "It's almost over," she said sympathetically.
But Jack could see something else in her eyes. A haunted look. And he suddenly realized with dread that there was a question he hadn't asked. And even though they had come so far, still couldn't.
